


His Eyes, How They Twinkled

by lacqueluster (GG_and_MM)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Reader is sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-24
Updated: 2016-07-24
Packaged: 2018-07-26 11:17:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7572139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GG_and_MM/pseuds/lacqueluster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His head tilts back, his mouth opening in a big, hearty laugh. You love that laugh, it always warms you inside, and you feel your mood lifting just a little. When he looks at you again his eyes are dancing, and it reminds you of that old poem about Santa Claus. “His eyes, how they twinkled! His dimples, how merry!” You hadn’t thought of that poem in years and you can’t help but smile back at him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Eyes, How They Twinkled

**Author's Note:**

> I had a couple friends having a bad week, one requested a little fluff to cheer her up and the other is having a birthday today (YAY!). Hopefully this brings them, and you, a little cheer!

The flutter of wings comes from behind you. It’s soft, somehow frantic and calming at the same time. You press your nose into the corner of the couch, curling in on yourself a little tighter. You should get up, turn around, greet him. For some reason today you just can’t. 

You feel his hand on your shoulder, gentle and barely there, and then his weight is on the couch by your feet. You wait for him to say something but he doesn’t. That’s unusual, he’s always quick to greet you with teasing and witty banter. 

You sigh a little and turn your head, you can’t really see him over your shoulder. “Hi, Gabe,” you say softly.

“Hi, sweetheart.” His tone is gentle, his hand on your leg somehow reassuring. 

“You okay?” You can’t help but ask it. His actions right now aren’t normal, you have to make sure something hasn’t happened. He doesn’t seem upset, just… different.

“I’m fine, love, but you’re not. What’s wrong?”

You study the upholstery of the couch. The color, the fibers, there’s a tiny speck of lint and you want to pick it off. You don’t. “I don’t know. It’s been one of those weeks. Nothing horrible happened, it just weighed me down, I guess.”

His hand runs up your thigh. Normally a touch like that would lead to other things, but not today. Today you can tell it’s different, and that’s reassuring somehow. 

“Come here.” It’s not an order but it’s not a question either. He waits when you don’t move, his palm on your thigh just above your knee.

You know you don’t have to move, he’ll sit there forever if you don’t. He hasn’t said that but somehow you know. You imagine him like one of those beautiful angels in cemeteries, frozen in stone from waiting so long, and that image makes your heart ache. Why are you feeling like this?

You sit up and move to him, his golden brown eyes watching you with concern, and he doesn’t speak as you move into his lap and wrap your arms around his neck.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know why I can’t shake this off today,” you whisper into his neck. 

His hands pull you securely into his arms, one resting on your lower back and the other high up on the bottom of your thigh. He sighs, a soft hum escaping with it. 

“It’s okay, happens to everyone, it’ll pass. In the meantime we’ll sit here and relax. We’ve got nothin’ to do, no place to be, we’ll just hide.”

He smells good, a little like cotton candy and something else, something you can’t place. It’s not strong or overpowering, but the faint cotton candy reminds you of the fair as a kid. Carousels and that cinnamony smell of funnel cake, big smiles at the top of the Ferris Wheel as you bite into a candy apple. You smile softly at that and wrap your arms tighter around him. 

“We’re not hiding very well, I mean, people know where I live. Shouldn’t we go to Timbuktu or something?”

He chuckles at your words, one hand moving to smooth your hair. “Been there. It’s hot. And dry. And sandy. You sure that’s where you want to hide out? I love sand as much as the next guy but I usually like palm trees with it, maybe an ocean view, fruity drinks, a breeze, any of this sound good to you?”

“Mmmm,” you hum, “it sounds lovely. I’m a little tired though, can I get a raincheck? How about a movie instead?”

“A movie is good, we can do a movie.” You can feel him nodding his head. “Comedy? Drama? Maybe something scary so you can jump into my arms?”

Your fingers tease the soft hair on his neck. “I’m already in your arms, silly.”

“Right, well, I just assumed you’d have to move to see the TV. If you want to stay right where you, are that’s good too.”

“Nothing scary,” you pull away from him a little so you can see his face, “something funny, I want to laugh.”

He smiles with his eyes. “Good, me too.”

You tug his hair gently. “You always want to laugh, you’re never serious.”

“Ahh, you’re wrong, sweets. I’ve got my serious moments, I just break them up with lots of pranks and jokes. It’s how I keep my sanity.”

“So you stay sane by driving others crazy?”

His head tilts back, his mouth opening in a big, hearty laugh. You love that laugh, it always warms you inside, and you feel your mood lifting just a little. When he looks at you again his eyes are dancing, and it reminds you of that old poem about Santa Claus. “ _His eyes, how they twinkled! His dimples, how merry!_ ” You hadn’t thought of that poem in years and you can’t help but smile back at him. 

“You ever play Santa Claus in another life?”

His eyebrow raises at your question, obviously wondering where it came from. “Can’t say as I have, kiddo. Pretty sure no one wants me as Santa, there would be some confused kids and appalled parents at the presents under the tree come Christmas morning.”

That finally gets a laugh, a real, actual laugh. He kisses your cheek while you’re still laughing. 

“I’m glad that beautiful smile is back,” his thumb traces along your jaw as he studies your face. “Now, it’s movie time, let’s get this show started!” He snaps his fingers and the TV booms with the roar of the MGM Lion. 

You shift to the couch and tuck yourself into his side. Another snap of his fingers has a bowl of popcorn in your lap and packages of candy scattered over his. You lean your head into his shoulder with a sigh. 

“Thanks for this, Gabe.”

His arms tightens around your shoulder. “Your welcome, anytime.”

You cuddle into him more as you steal some of his candy. “You’re the best.”

That gets a chuckle. “That’s not a popular opinion of me, I’m sure.”

You lean your head back to study his face and he looks down at you. His eyes catch the light and reflect it back in flecks of gold and amber. “Well, it’s my opinion of you. You _are_ the best.”

He presses a kiss to your forehead. “That’s the only opinion that matters, sweetheart.”


End file.
